


Pride Before a Fall

by IxiaGrey



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Moiramaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IxiaGrey/pseuds/IxiaGrey
Summary: Moira reflects on some poor decisions.(Side note: This is the only thing I've ever posted in a public setting. Please be gentle.)





	Pride Before a Fall

The smell of new-cut grass and late spring forest permeated the villa. Someone, somewhere, somehow had wrangled the isolated, beautifully-kept bit of land into the keeping of one of Talon’s myriad shell companies; hidden away from the average prying eye by a thick layer of trees and boring, deep-rutted dirt roads. It would never do for large-scale operations, but the staging of small strike teams? Perfect. Beautiful. 

It was even enough to allow Moira to relax a little. Just a little. Too used to sterile laboratories and layers of white on white on white, the fragrant greenery made for a welcome change of pace for the work-focused geneticist. Temporarily relocated to the villa a day and a half prior - a precaution in the event of injuries sustained during the upcoming mission - the lanky woman had taken to strolling through the halls, clipboard in one hand, coffee mug in the other. Work never stopped, even when a clean room was nowhere to be found. 

Later in the afternoon, the agents assigned to tomorrow’s activities would report, one by one, to her office for clearance. Until then, she was free to look over the latest reports generated from one of her long-running side projects, still nothing more than an idle hypothesis, but capable of so much more -- 

\-- an air-splitting crack cut through the golden, sun-warmed day like a sharp knife through cheap paper. Moira tensed briefly, nails scraping against her clipboard, red hair ruffling as her head snapped up to assess the threat. 

Outside. In the courtyard, separated from her direct gaze by a wispy, fluttering curtain hung over french doors propped open to the lazy sunshine, was the source of her brief concern. 

Amelie. 

Talon’s prized sniper, and Moira’s greatest success. Poised and perfectly elegant, as always; the rear courtyard had been converted into a practice range in preparation for the next day’s activities. Time seemed to slow as Moira watched through the sheer fabric, reports forgotten. Still and serene, the sniper could have been mistaken for a statue, save for the breeze gently ruffling her long hair, the occasional blink. Endless patience, waiting for a target drone to pause, just so. 

Moira was awkwardly aware of how angular her hands were, how her legs were too long, chin too pointed; compared to Amelie’s effortless grace, who wouldn’t be self-conscious?  
Keep telling yourself that’s all it is, of course. 

She was staring, and she knew it, and she couldn’t stop. 

*****

When given the opportunity to create the perfect killer, how could she have refused? To enhance the body, refine and sharpen the focus, to strip away everything unnecessary… it was a challenge she was proud to rise to. 

When she was done, when she’d presented her finished work -- a creature of elegance and grace, of refined ruthlessness and skill -- a small piece of her had died. When she proudly emphasized the near-total lack of attachments, the cold efficiency, when she’d received praises for a job well done, something inside her had frozen over as well. 

How could she have known? 

It never occurred to her the repercussions of stripping away emotion; the unintended side-effects of neatly and cleanly slicing away what made Amelie human. She’d been too blind with pride, too smug with the chance to reshape the beautiful specimen into a form more suitable to her employer’s tastes. If she just happened to be suitable to Moira’s tastes as well, well -- where was the harm in that? 

And if, in her pride, in her devotion to work above all else -- if, in the drive to be the best in her field, if she’d burned away too much, if the end result left her with nothing more than disdainful glances, despite all her efforts… how could she have known? 

Amelie Lacroix was Moira’s greatest success. 

And her greatest failure. 

*****

Abruptly, the geneticist realized the sniper hadn’t fired in several minutes, and a flush rose up from her collar on realizing that Amelie was gazing flatly back at her, as much expression written across her features as one might expect from a stone, apparently willing to stand perfectly still and wait as long as the doctor was willing to stare. 

Moira’s white coat flapped sharply about her hips as she spun on her heel and stalked back to her offices, chin up, knuckles white as they curved around the edge of the clipboard. There wasn’t time for such pointless woolgathering, she thought. 

She had work to do.


End file.
